


God is Real (He Was Sleeping in My Bed Last Night)

by roswyrm



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Fluff, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Cuddles, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 22:30:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20143033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roswyrm/pseuds/roswyrm
Summary: Zolf's apartment is empty. It doesn't matter most of the time, but right now, it's too much. His apartment is empty, and the streets are dark and lonely, and he doesn't know where he's supposed to go.





	God is Real (He Was Sleeping in My Bed Last Night)

**Author's Note:**

> this is,, horrifically unfinished, but we're gonna ignore that. uhhh the title is from God in Jeans by Ryan Beatty (which i sure haven't been listening to on repeat)
> 
> Working Title: _rhymes with parrot but only if ur drunk_

“And the candles?” Zolf asks, eyeing the careful way Hamid strikes the match. His gold nails glint in the flickering firelight as he lights three small candles. Sulphur and smoke mingle with the other smells everpresent in Hamid’s shop, a new acridness lingering beneath the scent of high-end cosmetics and jasmine incense.

Hamid smiles at the floor instead of at Zolf, readjusting and pulling out his tarot deck. His bracelets glint like his nails do. “It just looks nice,” he concedes. 

The candlelight leaps into the air and Hamid’s skin seems almost golden, his Eye of Horus amulet shining, his hands so careful around the gilded edges of the cards. Hamid looks like a performer, most of the time. Thick kohl around his eyes, an array of rings, an ear-cuff in the shape of a dragon. Like a proper witch. Zolf can’t come to his shop during lunch breaks anymore because he gets so caught up in staring that he’s late back to work. 

Zolf lets himself look, for once. It’s not like he’s got anywhere to be except his empty apartment, and that’s kind of the reason he’s sitting in the back of Hamid’s shop an hour after it’s technically closed. 

His apartment is empty. 

(Hamid was locking up the register when Zolf stumbled into his shop like a man half-possessed. Hamid turned around, eyes wide with surprise and then concern, leaving the key in place. Zolf took a step back, toward the door. “You’re closing,” he said, and he should have noticed that the sign in the window was off, but his head wasn’t exactly cooperating, “I can– I can come back later, sorry.” But Hamid was already stepping across the floorboards to put a comforting hand on Zolf’s shoulder.

“Hey, it’s alright. You can stay.” He smiled up at Zolf, and the orange of the streetlights made his eyes almost glow, turned the thin chain around his neck to a line of pure gold. “I’m always open if it’s you.”)

The streetlights don’t filter in back here, leaving only the flickering tea lights as a source of illumination. Hamid shuffles the cards, and their gilded edges sparkle like his eyes do when Zolf tells a particularly interesting story. Zolf watches carefully, taking note of how Hamid splits up the deck, of which cards he draws. The silver silhouette of two people, arms linked and each holding a purple cup, facing toward him. A man in a purple helmet holding a silver cup, facing toward Hamid. A flat purple background with a star. Hamid scowls at his deck. “Yes,” he says mulishly to the cards, reshuffling them into their pouch, “yes, I know that’s what you think, you haven’t stopped telling me for a week.” Zolf raises an eyebrow at him. Hamid doesn’t look up, still fussing with his deck, sulking at whatever the cards told him.

(Zolf doesn’t want to go home to his empty apartment. He’s going to have to wait, alone, for the bus to get here, and it’s going to be another half hour of sitting on an empty bus, if not longer, and he’s beginning to wish he’d just let himself have a panic attack. At least he’d be asleep before midnight.)

Hamid clears his throat. Zolf blinks up at him, startled. Hamid is staring at him expectantly, already stood up, the backdoor to his shop half-opened, and Zolf realises he must have said something while Zolf was zoned out. “Sorry?” Hamid’s smile returns, the soft one that Zolf’s never seen him give anyone else, even though it must get used quite a bit. The one that’s meant to put people at ease. The one that makes him melt a bit every damn time.

Hamid repeats, “Do you want me to pay for your ride home?” Zolf shakes his head as he gets to his feet, the white smoke of extinguished candles making him wrinkle his nose. Hamid takes a step toward him, half-holding his arm out for Zolf to take, but Zolf ignores it. He can stand up fine on his own. Besides, it’s not like Hamid has ever made him _steadier._

Zolf says, “Figured I’d take the bus,” with a shrug.

Hamid frowns. “The bus won’t be here for another hour, at least,” he says, eyebrows furrowed. Zolf shrugs again and starts walking past him, out the door, but Hamid catches him by the hand and insists, “Let me get you a ride, Zolf. It’s the least I can do.”

Zolf waves him away, but he doesn’t make Hamid drop his hand. “It’s fine, don’t waste your money on me.” Hamid’s brow furrows even more, and Zolf takes a step forward, expecting Hamid to move back and let him through. 

Hamid doesn’t.

Hamid stays where he is, closer now, and pouts. “I’m not wasting money,” he protests, “I’m making sure you don’t get mugged at a bus station. It’s dark out.” The streetlights are leaking in, now, casting Hamid’s face in shadow as the orange fluorescents obscure Zolf’s vision.

“It’s fine,” Zolf says again. Hamid pouts at him more. “Really, I just– I don’t need you to—”

“Could you walk for a block or two?”

Zolf blinks. “Uh. Yes? Why?”

Hamid nods decisively and snags his coat from the hook just behind Zolf’s head. “Because my apartment is a block or so away, and I’m not going to let you get mugged or kidnapped or _something_ because you didn’t want me to pay for an Uber.” Zolf stammers something like a protest, but as soon as Hamid shrugs on his overcoat, he grabs Zolf’s hand again and starts tugging him out to the back of the shop, and how exactly is Zolf supposed to do anything but follow him?

The cement steps down to the sidewalk are a bit jarring, but Zolf manages with Hamid’s arm holding him up. It’s a minor miracle, actually, considering how his knees stop working correctly when Hamid touches him.   
\---  
Hamid sags into him about halfway through the made-for-TV movie they put on to fill the awkward silence of Hamid’s apartment. They’d argued for a good half hour about who should take the bed, and then Zolf declared that he was just going to watch a movie on the couch, and Hamid stubbornly decided to watch it with him. Except now, Hamid’s nodding off against him and Zolf can’t figure out if he’s frustrated or hopelessly endeared. “Go to bed,” Zolf says, and Hamid starts back awake. Zolf turns the TV off. Hamid makes a sleepy noise of annoyance, and Zolf turns to put a hand on his arm. “You’re dead on your feet, Hamid. Go to bed.” Hamid makes another mumbling argument, his eyes half-shut and his head tipping forward into Zolf’s shoulder.

Zolf rolls his eyes, and the corners of his mouth curl up of their own accord as he lifts Hamid off the couch so he can carry the idiot to bed. 

Hamid makes a whiny noise that might be an attempt at words and pushes half-heartedly at Zolf. “You’re gonna make me drop you,” Zolf scolds, and Hamid squints at him before sighing, any remaining tension vanishing as he leans his head into Zolf’s chest and lets himself be carried. Zolf’s left leg creaks worryingly under the added weight, but Hamid’s bedroom isn’t too far away.

Zolf drops Hamid unceremoniously on top of the covers and starts to go back to the couch, but Hamid grabs at the front of his shirt. “Stay,” he instructs, his voice softened by sleep. Zolf takes a step back, excuses already forming, but Hamid grumbles something and sits up to glare at him. “The den’s empty,” he points out, and he has no right to sound so worried.

Zolf scoffs. “I’m fine, Hamid.” And he is; the only vacancy that makes him feel panicked and broken is the space in his apartment where someone else ought to be.

Hamid’s hand is soft when it closes around Zolf’s wrist, even if his nails are cold and pointy. “You couldn’t go home because it was empty. My bed’s not empty.” He says it so matter-of-factly, too, like it’s the most reasonable solution in the world. Like the natural outcome is Zolf sleeping in the same bed with him. Like he didn’t just string together the worst possible sentence and make Zolf’s face heat up about three hundred degrees.

“Hamid,” Zolf starts, not quite sure what he’s going to say.

_“Zolf,”_ Hamid answers reproachfully. He pouts up at Zolf, eyes still drooping.

(Zolf found Hamid sitting on the cement steps behind his shop, curled up into a little ball, sniffling into his knees. “Shit,” Zolf said, taking a worried step forward, “are you—”

Hamid startled, blinking up at him with puffy eyes and thick black streaks down his face and stained onto his trousers. “Oh! I’m f-fine, I– um, s-sorry I look like such a wreck. I’m s-so, so sorry, I, u-um. I forgot we were having lunch.” He scrubbed at his eyes, smearing watery kohl everywhere, and Zolf sat down on the steps next to him despite the protesting creaks of his leg. Hamid sniffled some more and smiled at him, like maybe if he showed off enough teeth he’d be fine.

Zolf handed him the sandwich he’d bought for lunch and wrapped an arm around him to drag him closer. Hamid didn’t even put up a token protest as he turned and sobbed into Zolf’s shoulder. He babbled something apologetic, but Zolf brushed him off, “I can’t understand you. Tell me when you’re not a mess.” He didn’t know what was wrong, but it’s not like he was going to leave Hamid alone.)

Zolf unhooks his binder through his shirt and grumbles, “Fine, yeah. Just don’t. Look at me.” Hamid laughs quietly to himself, smiling sleepily up at Zolf like– like he’s– like he doesn’t know what, but it’s annoying. “Quit staring,” Zolf snaps, but even as Hamid closes his eyes, that smile stays on his face. Zolf sits down at the edge of the bed and starts the too-long process of taking off his prosthetic.

And.  
Zolf lies down.  
In bed.  
With Hamid.

_Christ._

Hamid doesn’t say anything, just settles into his pillow and murmurs, “Goodnight.” Zolf closes his eyes, heart beating so hard he’s sure Hamid can hear it thundering against his ribcage. Zolf edges back until he’s almost falling off the bed and doesn’t think about how close Hamid is. He counts the time between his heartbeats, and slowly, his sternum stops threatening to crack under the repeated assault caused by Zolf’s nerves. Slowly, Zolf falls asleep.  
\---  
Zolf is overheating, which is novel for a number of reasons, the most notable of which being that his heater is beyond broken and Zolf has to sleep with about five blankets just so he doesn’t freeze to death. He groans and tries to shift out from under the blanket, but his arm prickles painfully, and he hisses as feeling comes back to it.

Hamid grumbles something unintelligible and uses the arm he has around Zolf’s waist to pull him closer.

_That’s_ not right.

Zolf looks down in awe (and disbelief) at the man cuddling him. He carefully picks up the arm that he was resting on top of Hamid and tries to roll away. Hamid makes a sleepy noise of protest. “Hamid, get off.” Hamid does no such thing, burying his face in Zolf’s chest and sending shoots of tingling pain down the arm he’s using as a pillow. “Hamid,” Zolf says, and it’s still dark outside, but the hints of sunrise creep through Hamid’s sheer curtains. Hamid mumbles something and shifts to be closer. Zolf stares at the wall with a sort of dead-inside fury, and slowly starts trying to peel the witch off of him. “C’mon, I need to go to work.” And he _can_ walk to work from here, but he can already tell that’d make him miserable.

Hamid makes another soft noise, but this time he pulls back to blink sleepily at Zolf. “G’morning,” he murmurs, and Zolf goes back to staring at the wall so he isn’t practically nose-to-nose with Hamid.

“Yep,” Zolf says, “morning. Get up.”

**Author's Note:**

> i genuinely cant tell u what the tarot reading meant in detail bc i wrote this so long ago but i _think_ it was smth like "okay we know you've been burned before but the cute guy youre into is RIGHT THERE and you should TOTALLY GO FOR IT bc it'll make BOTH OF YOU SO MUCH HAPPIER" but yk. might be completely wrong. im on tumblr @roswyrm and comments sustain me, even if i don't actually respond to them


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